her hair cut short, a man’s collar and tie, and a man’s tweed coat. It was only when she stood up and moved away from her desk you were surprised to see the tweed skirt, silk stockings and heavy brogue shoes. She was very hearty, and, if you weren’t careful to keep out of her reach, she had a habit of slapping you violently on the back, making you feel sick for the next two or three hours. She also had a laugh as loud as the bang of a twelve-bore shot-gun, and if you weren’t watching for it, you jumped out of your skin when she let it off. A woman I wouldn’t want to live with, but a good-hearted soul, generous with her money, and a lot more interested in nervous, frail little blondes than a big husky like me.
The timid bunny-faced girl who showed me into Mrs. Bendix’s cream and green office edged away from me as if I were full of bad intentions, and gave Mrs. Bendix a coy little smile that could have meant something or nothing depending on the state of your mind.
“Come on in, Vic,” Mrs. Bendix boomed from across a paper-littered desk. “Sit down. Haven’t seen you in days. What have you been doing with yourself?”
I sat down and grinned at her.
“This and that,” I told her. “Keeping the wolf from the door. I’ve looked in for a little help, Martha. Done any business with the Crosbys?”
“Not for a long time.” She leaned down and hoisted up a bottle of Scotch, two glasses and half a dozen coffee beans. “Make it snappy,” she went on. “I don’t want to shock Mary. She doesn’t approve of drinking in office hours.”
“That Mary with the rabbit teeth?”
“Never mind about her teeth. She’s not going to bite you with them.” She handed me a glass half full of Scotch and three of the coffee beans. “You mean the Crosbys on Foothill Boulevard?”
I said I meant the Crosbys on Foothill Boulevard.
“I did a job for them once, but not since. That was about six years ago. I fixed the whole of their staff then. Since Janet Crosby died they cleared out the old crowd and put in a new lot. They didn’t come to me for the new lot.”
I sampled the Scotch. It was smooth and silky, and had plenty of authority.
“You mean they sacked everybody?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
“What happened to them?”
“I fixed them up elsewhere.”
I chewed this over.
“Look, Martha, between you and me and the coffee beans, I’m trying to get the lowdown on Janet’s death. I’ve had a tip, and it might or might not be worth working on. I’m not entirely sold on the idea she died of heart failure. I’d like to talk it over with some of the old staff. They may have seen something. The butler, for instance. Who was he?”
“John Stevens,” Mrs. Bendix said after a moment’s thought. She finished her drink, tossed three beans into her mouth, put her glass and the Scotch out of sight and dug her thumb into a bell-push on her desk. The bunny- faced girl crept in.
“Where’s John Stevens working now, honey?”
The bunny-faced girl said she would find out. After a couple of minutes she came back and said Stevens worked for Gregory Wainwright, Hillside, Jefferson Avenue.
“How about Janet’s personal maid? Where’s she now?” I asked.
Mrs. Bendix waved the bunny-faced girl away. When she had gone, she said, “That bitch? She’s not working any more, and I wouldn’t give her a job if she came to me on bended knees.”
“What’s the matter with her?” I asked, hopefully pushing my empty glass forward. “Let’s be matey, Martha. One drink is no use to big, strong boys like you and me.”
Mrs. Bendix sniggered, hoisted up the bottle again and poured.
“What’s the matter with her?” I repeated, when we had saluted each other.
“She’s no good,” Mrs. Bendix said, and scowled. “Just a goddamn lazy bum.”
“We haven’t got our lines crossed, have we? I’m talking about Janet Crosby’s personal maid.”
“So am I,” Mrs. Bendix said, and fed three more coffee beans into her mouth. “Eudora Drew. That’s her name. She’s gone haywire. I wanted a good personal maid for Mrs. Randolph Playfair. I took the trouble to contact Drew to tell her I could fix her up. She told me to jump in a cesspit. That’s a nice way to talk, isn’t it? She said she wasn’t ever going to do any more work, and if one cesspit wouldn’t hold me anyone would dig me another if I told them what it was for.” Mrs. Bendix brooded darkly at the insult. “At one time I thought she was a good, smart girl. Just shows you can’t trust them further than you can throw them, doesn’t it? It’s my bet she’s living on some man. She’s got a bungalow in Coral Gables, and lives in style.”
“Where in Coral Gables?”
“On Mount Verde Avenue. You interested?”
“I might be. What happened to the rest of the staff?”
“I fixed them all up. I can give you addresses if you want them.”
I finished my drink.
“I may want them. I’ll let you know. How soon after Janet’s death did this Drew girl get the sack?”
“The next day. All the staff went before the funeral.”
I eat a coffee bean.
“Any reason given?”
“Maureen Crosby went away for a couple of months. The house was shut up.”
“Not usual to sack all the staff when you go away for a couple of months, is it?”
“Of course it isn’t usual.”
“Tell me more about this Drew girl.”
“The things you want to know,” Mrs. Bendix said, and sighed. “Give me that glass unless you want another.”
I said I didn’t want another, and watched her hide the Scotch and the two glasses. Then she dug her thumb into the bell-push again.
The bunny-faced girl came in and gave her another coy smile.
“Dig out Eudora Drew’s card, honey,” Mrs. Bendix said. “I want to have a look at it.”
The bunny-faced girl came back after a while with a card. She gave it to Mrs. Bendix the way an adoring Bobbysoxer might give Frank Sinatra a posy.
When she had gone, Mrs. Bendix said, “I don’t know if this is what you want. Age twenty-eight. Home address, 2243 Kelsie Street, Carmel. Three years with Mrs. Franklin Lambert.
Excellent references. Janet Crosby’s personal maid from July 1943. Any good to you?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t know. Could be. I think I’d better go and talk to her. What makes you think she’s living with a man?”
“How else does she get her money? She’s not working. It’s either a man or a lot of men.”
“Janet Crosby might have left her a legacy.”
Mrs. Bendix lifted her bushy eyebrows.
“I hadn’t thought of that. She might, of course. Yes, come to think of it, it might be the answer.”
“Well, okay,” I said, getting up. “Thanks for the drinks. Come and see us some time for a change. We have drinks too.”
“Not me,” Mrs. Bendix said firmly. “That Bensinger girl doesn’t approve of me. I can see it in her eyes.”
I grinned.
“She doesn’t approve of me, either. I don’t let that worry me. It shouldn’t worry you.”
“It doesn’t. And don’t kid yourself, Vic. That girl’s in love with you.”
I considered this, then shook my head.
“You’re wrong. She isn’t in love with anyone. She isn’t the type to fall in love.”
Mrs. Bendix pursed up her lips and made a loud, rude noise.
